THE BIRD OF THE BURNS 163 



the ferns and flowers that spring so fresh and 

 verdant from trie clefts of its rocky banks, and 

 in the birds which ever and again reveal themselves 

 to him as he passes from stream to pool and pool 

 to stream, dropping a fly for occupation's sake 

 on the likely places. And of all the birds of the 

 burn the dipper is the one he is surest to see 

 and most certain to welcome. It belongs to the 

 place, and the place is hardly complete without it. 

 He turns a bend, and there it is before him. 

 It is standing on a boulder which divides and 

 just rises above the water. Dark brown, almost 

 black of colour, with a pure white waistcoat, and 

 nearly as big as a blackbird, it would claim some 

 attention if it did nothing in particular, but its 

 actions are arresting. As it sits on the stone it 

 bobs up and down, " curtsies," and the action, and 

 the upturn of the tail, suggest that it is a wren 

 of a larger growth. It is, as a matter of fact, 

 no sort of relative of the wren, and very unwrenlike 

 is the next thing it does. For as the angler looks 

 it drops plump off its stone into the water and 

 disappears. If the watcher hides himself he may 

 see something more of this diving faculty, so 

 remarkable in a bird of thrush-like affinities. In 

 a minute or so the dipper comes again to the 

 surface and resumes its place on its stone, as dry 

 to all appearance as when it went down. Then 

 it makes a short, arrow -straight flight, and alights 

 on the gravel bank just below where the watcher 

 is ensconced. It begins to pick up minute objects 

 between the stones, and when it reaches the edge 

 of the stream walks right on, as if the water 



